Healing Complete!
by Kimi37212
Summary: Spoilery for BtVS 7.11 and 7.12... and because of bad press, that's all I'm saying.


Title: Healing 1/1  
Author: Kimi  
Rating: PG 13  
Spoilers: For "Showtime" and "Potential" (but not really much of anything you didn't expect). Post-"Bring on the Night"  
Summary: Even vampires need a little TLC.   
Feedback: You beta, you beta, you bet!   
Disclaimers: All Joss, all ME, all the time...  
  
  
Healing  
1/1   
  
  
  
As her mom used to say, she was brooding like a mother hen. Broody, Buffy knew well. She'd been all intimate with the broody.  
  
Wincing, Buffy raised her hand to the half-healed cut above her eye. But the wince was for the use of 'intimate' and 'broody' in the same sentence. Small Angel moment. Nothing to stress over.  
  
As for the mother hen thing? Well, the chicks were all around her, sleeping on sofas, sharing beds - Slayers in Training, Andrew, Giles, Xander, Anya, Willow, Dawnie...  
  
And in the basement, Spike.  
  
She got up and moved heavily toward the cellar stairs. She'd been worried about the shelf-life of the pig's blood in the fridge, but it ended up not mattering anyway. Spike had been pretty much unconscious since she'd gotten him back.  
  
Quietly, she slipped down to check on him. A tiny frown ate away at the skin between her brows. He was so... battered. And it wasn't just his face. He hadn't been wearing a shirt when she found him, and the purplish bruises made broken ribs self-evident. And he had been limping when she'd brought him out, grimacing in pain everywhere she touched him to try and hold him up.  
  
Buffy shook her head. She'd left him alone to heal after Glory had tortured him. Xander and Giles had dumped him in his crypt, and there he'd stayed until she needed him again. And she'd stayed away after she herself had beaten him so badly in the alley near the police station. But now...  
  
She'd been down the steps six times in half as many hours to check on him. Just to reassure herself that he was there. That he wasn't dust. That he was safe.  
  
Well, she reminded herself grimly, as safe as any of them were.  
  
She shook her head again, this time to clear it, and focused. His face seemed to be healing. She pulled at the sheet to look at a particularly nasty spot she'd noticed on his chest. Absently, a grin twisted the side of her mouth. Despite all the damage...  
  
The line between her brow dug in deeper. It was save the world time and she was noticing...  
  
Except hey, she thought all her friends were beautiful. Certainly Willow and Anya were. And Xander, too, in a guy sort of way. And as Anya had said when she was under Willow's forgetfulness spell, Giles was ruggedly handsome. So why couldn't she think Spike was beautiful? Because...  
  
Because he was her friend, too.  
  
She pulled the stool toward the bed, as she'd done every time she'd come down, and perched. Her shoulders relaxed. How long had she felt like he was her friend? Certainly, since she'd been raised from the dead for the... what? Second time? Was that all? Seemed like more.  
  
Since they'd gone to take Dawn from Glory?  
  
Longer? And she just hadn't recognized it? Hadn't wanted to?  
  
She shook her head again. She didn't know. And she ought to be thinking about the First, instead of other 'bad old days.' Sure, she'd taken out the uber bad vamp, but Buffy wasn't stupid enough to think it was over. Not by a long shot.  
  
Instead of thinking of a plan, her mind wandered as her eyes idly moved over his face. If she sat long enough, could she watch him heal? Watch the cuts close and the bruises fade?  
  
As if in answer, he moved slightly in his sleep and whimpered. Without thinking, she put out a steadying hand and touched his hair.  
  
"Shhh," she breathed softly.  
  
He stilled, but his eyes struggled to open. Even the one that had been swollen shut when she'd found him. It didn't quite make it, but the single blue eye that fixed on her was enough. He was still with them.  
  
"Buffy...?"  
  
"Shhh," she repeated in a whisper. "And yes, it's me. The really, really me."  
  
He nodded, seemingly satisfied that it was.   
  
"You're pretty bunged up," she told him honestly. His face was expressionless. She allowed a little humor to creep into her voice. "I was just sitting here wondering if I could sit here and 'watch' you get better. Heal, I mean."  
  
"Lack of entertainment?" he asked rhetorically, with only the faintest shadow of sarcasm. She doubted he had the strength for more.  
  
"Everyone else is asleep," she confessed. "And I need you to be okay." She looked at him searchingly. "So be okay, all right?"   
  
"Workin' on it..." he said with the barest hint of a smile as his eyes closed and he relaxed back into unconsciousness.  
  
Squaring her shoulders, she stood and headed back upstairs to continue standing watch. Paused at the head of the steps.  
  
"Need you to be okay," she said quietly.  
  
She left the door open.  
  
+  
  
"Do you think you can eat now?"  
  
Spike was in pain and out of sorts. "Think I've eaten enough, don't you?" he snapped.  
  
Obviously, he was better if he was able to return to self-pity mode. Sitting down on the stool, mug full of pig's blood in hand, she sighed exaggeratedly. "This could get real old, real fast. C'mon. Try sitting up."  
  
As he struggled to do as he was asked, she reached out to give him a hand. After several grimaces and a scathingly quiet 'bloody hell,' he was braced upright against the wall that ran behind the cot.   
  
Buffy extended the mug and watched him reach out with a hand that was shaking all the way to his shoulder. His eyes fixed on the betraying hand with disgust.   
  
"Let me."   
  
He started to protest.  
  
"What? It's not like I haven't done it before," she said brusquely. Putting the straw to his lips, she smiled a little to take the sting out of his infirmity. He finished the mug off quickly, as if there was no pleasure in eating. Like he was taking medicine, instead of food.  
  
Setting the empty mug on the floor, she took her time sitting back up, and tried to gather her thoughts. It was time to talk.  
  
He beat her to it, cutting through to the meat of it, as always.  
  
"How bad is it?"  
  
He'd never been the type to skate around it when sailing straight in would serve. It used to irritate her. Now it was a relief.  
  
"Pretty bad," she admitted, looking him in the eye. "Although I did manage to lop the head off that cute little vampire you made."  
  
"Thank God for that," Spike said with a small smile. "Nasty bugger. Helluva kick," he said, gingerly touching his ribs.  
  
Buffy grinned back. "I noticed. Not once, but several times."  
  
"Same here." Squinting, Spike leaned forward a little, to examine the slayer's face. "Ouch. Got you, too?"  
  
She nodded as she touched her eyebrow. "Still sore. This one could leave a scar."  
  
"Nah. Be fine in a few. Slayer healing. Better than vamps. You'll see," Spike assured her. He settled back uncomfortably, and gathered himself. "Now. How can I help?"  
  
Relief washed over her face. She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Help me stop this thing. Help me protect everyone. Just... be here. I've got an army upstairs that needs training. Well, maybe not an army. More like a pajama party really. Giles brought all of these slayers in training. Their watchers are dead. And they need..."  
  
"Training?" Spike supplied.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"How many?"  
  
"Well, just four right now, but there are more coming. In fact, it looks like all that are left are coming."  
  
"Homing in on the Hellmouth? Can't say as that's too smart. Like pigeons comin' home to roost."  
  
Buffy nodded. "And 'home' is not a very friendly place. Worst of all, it doesn't look like their watchers were nearly as 'progressive' as Giles."  
  
"That's not good." He looked at her questioningly. "So?"  
  
"They need a crash course in slaying. We're going to need everyone we've got to beat this thing." She pursed her lips. "And they've been... sheltered."  
  
"Well," Spike said reasonably, "it's not like they've been 'called,' have they? Watchers were keepin' 'em safe, I reckon."  
  
"No field experience. I know you're not really up to it yet, but I need you to work with them. I remember fighting my first vampire and it's a good thing my Watcher was there." She looked down. "I kinda missed."  
  
"You?" Spike was incredulous. "You missed?"  
  
"The heart," she said quickly. "I staked him, but I missed the heart. But then, I hit it. And that was the only time ever, okay? So don't start."  
  
He chuckled painfully. Still, it was a chuckle. There was hope yet.  
  
"Guess a vampire with his fangs pulled is next best to the real thing," Spike commented, sitting a little straighter.  
  
"Yeah. I thought so." She looked down, then back up. "I need you. Know you can really help."  
  
He smiled slowly. "Fill that mug, Slayer. Better yet, bring a pint or two. Takes blood to heal. Better get on with it, hadn't I?"  
  
Her concern was evident. "I don't *want* to push, but I have to. You understand, right?"  
  
"No worries, love. You can't push me any harder than I can push me."  
  
+  
  
"Okay. Deep breath." She waited a beat. "Now!"  
  
"Deep breath?" Spike looked slightly amused as he extended his arms in front of him and bowed his head. Buffy pulled the fresh tee-shirt over his hands, up his arms, to his shoulders and down.  
  
His head snapped through the neck of the shirt, face twisted in pain. After taking a moment to be certain he was still in one piece, he spoke. "Well, *that* was bloody sad," he said candidly. The look on his face was a little embarrassed, but he brazened it out. "Can't even dress m'self."  
  
Critically, Buffy appraised him with the jaundiced eye of long association. "You're not very big baddish with that bed head look you've got happening. Those girls aren't gonna be the least bit afraid of you."  
  
"Oh, wonderful!" he said cuttingly. "Christ, Summers, my ribs were in splinters, I can't raise my arms, and you want me to fix my hair?"  
  
"Oh, you're such a baby. It's been three days. You should be worlds better by now," she complained as she reached out to push his hair off his forehead. It sprang back as if it had a life of its own. She smoothed it back again. Same reaction. She bit her lip.  
  
"What? You thought it was easy? Thought I just rolled off the bier lookin' the part?" He raised his eyebrows toward his hairline and tipped his head forward so that he didn't have to use his hands to point. "This hair? Doesn't want to do what it's told. Have to force it, y'see?"  
  
"Well, I'm sorry," she said petulantly, "but you're not very menacing is all."  
  
"Slayer, I've got ribs tryin' to knit, and can barely use my arms without screamin' in pain. Don't think the hair is gonna work any miraculous changes. I'm not Samson here. The hair's for shite."  
  
"Which is Spike-speak for what?"  
  
He shook his head in wonder. Slowly, the vampire slid to the edge of the cot.   
  
"Wait," she fluttered. "What are you..."  
  
"Clear a path to the loo, Buffy. And get me all the hair goo you can muster. Got a demon to tame." He levered himself up, waving the slayer off as he found his feet. Slowly straightening, he took a very deliberate step forward. "God, that hurts." His eyes found the foot of the steps and followed them all the way to the top. He very deliberately drew in a breath and pushed it out dramatically. "Bloody hell. Let's get it over, then." He toddled forward, dragging his right foot a little, and grabbed the stair rail. "Hold it." He stepped aside and nodded to Buffy. She just stared at him. "For pity's sake, get in front of me. One of us nearly paralytic is enough. Don't need you cushionin' my fall."  
  
Buffy smiled as she passed him. "Oh, yes. You're much better today."  
  
+  
  
They didn't have time for it. After the painfully slow progress through the cleared living room and up the stairs, there was no way they weren't going through with this.  
  
But when they reached the bathroom, Spike stopped dead in his tracks - a lot like he'd been kicked in the stomach. He would have backpedaled right out if Buffy hadn't prodded him forward with a tiny push to the small of the back. She watched him stiffen and walk inside. Following him in wasn't that hard. She'd been going in and out of there all summer and into the fall.  
  
TBC at the Sandlot  
  
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